


closer to dawn

by twilighteve



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Angst, Depressed Donald Duck, Donald Duck Needs a Hug, Gen, della duck tries her best, protective duck family, the island's aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:48:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27319504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilighteve/pseuds/twilighteve
Summary: He opened his eyes with a gasp, back home, safe in his hammock and the warmth of his boat, the sway as comforting as it had always been.He went to the kitchen, took the biggest mug he had left, and made his third cup of hot chocolate in vain hope it would help him sleep. His hopes dwindled more and more as the clock ticked closer to dawn.Donald deals with the aftermath of being stranded in an island.
Comments: 33
Kudos: 172





	closer to dawn

He hovered at the edge of sleep, pulled one way into the nothingness of slumber and the other into the dim wakefulness.

A particularly strong wind had the boat swaying, and the sound of water slapping the hull pulled at him – and he was back on the island, feeling the gritty sand beneath his feet and listening to the rushing waves of the sea and listening to the sound of something falling, falling, cutting through the air and crashing to the wet sands –

He opened his eyes with a gasp, back home, safe in his hammock and the warmth of his boat, the sway as comforting as it had always been.

He went to the kitchen, took the biggest mug he had left, and made his third cup of hot chocolate in vain hope it would help him sleep. His hopes dwindled more and more as the clock ticked closer to dawn.

* * *

The sound of the sea waves crashing was his constant companion. It was lulling, almost, and eventually it grew into a white noise that he could block, if he pretended hard enough.

He couldn’t be sure of how long he was kept prisoner on the moon. But he could count his days here, on the island, and see how long time has passed. His family got him on that cruise that he never got to go to. Someone was bound to call them, right? Tell them he never went on the cruise? And surely someone had to try to reach him. Huey was always good at making sure he kept contact with everyone.

He scratched the first line of the tally he would keep. He kept score, adding another with each passing day, and it grew longer and longer.

He stopped scratching tally after a while. He wondered why help wasn’t coming, and wondered if his family was glad they were finally rid of unlucky He who kept leaving messes in his wake.

* * *

He flipped around in his hammock, willing sleep to come to him, but it eluded him at the last moment; the dancing waves in his eyes had him blinking awake and sleep would stay too far away, too out of reach.

He still remembered clearly, how he heard the careening plane slicing though the air as gravity took grab on it and smashed it down. He still remembered the soaring hope he felt when he saw the familiar red of the Sunchaser glinting in the sun.

He still remembered clearly, how the hope lurched and turned to horror when the red smashed into the beach with enough force to rattle his bones.

* * *

The children ran to the crashing waves, chattering and laughing and joking at each other, pulling and pointing excitedly as they splashed water at each other. They kicked wet sand and grabbing it by the handfuls and threw it at each other’s face, screaming all the while.

“Uncle Donald, come on!” Huey said, eyes sparkling, holding out a hand for him to take so he could join. It was one of the rare moments where even Louie ran into the mess with a grin in his face, ready to take the world and roll around until he was all gritty from head to toe.

He felt the rough sand in his feet and gave Huey a smile. “I’m good. You kids go have fun.”

Huey lowered his hand with a small _oh_. “Well… if you’re sure,” he said, and he turned to join the other kids. Della had also run to them, carrying Dewey over her shoulder and waddling to sea, covered to the waist in water and yelling for someone else to join them so they could joust. He laughed at their antics, retreated to an ice cream vendor, and stayed there until the rest were ready to go home.

* * *

He felt gritty sand and coarse salt in his feathers for weeks. The taste of saltwater danced on his tongue no matter what he did.

The Oxy-Chew he had wasn’t there anymore – reentering the earth’s atmosphere had him shaken up and down and pulled in every direction, and he had accidentally swallowed the gum. He didn’t know if he could still enjoy the gum’s benefits that way, but better safe than sorry.

He found companion in the Melon Mickey, followed the vine, and grabbed another, more normal looking, watermelons around. He ripped one open with his bare hands and savored the sweetness of the fruit. He found a stream, too small to drink from, but managed to create a moat of sorts to collect water, which helped collect more when it rained. He found coconut trees and somehow managed to climb it to take coconuts for himself without falling and breaking his head open. He found rocks and smashed the coconuts open against them, drinking the sweet juice and eating the white flesh. The tallies he scratched into a fallen log was forgotten as he turned to trying to stay alive ignoring the fact that no one was coming, constructing a raft that kept falling apart the moment he pushed it to shore.

He buried his broken heart in façade of anger when he realized his family didn’t even realize he had been stranded in an island somewhere, focused on the Moonvasion, and pretended the hurt was healed when the family joined back together.

* * *

“Hey, are you sure you don’t want to join us?” Della asked, sitting by his side and plucking his popsicle from his hand.

He sighed and wordlessly bought another. Della stealing his food was a common occurrence before she disappeared into the ether, and it seemed the habit hadn’t changed. “I’m fine. I’m just not in the mood.”

“But you like the sea,” Della said, looking at him strangely. He just laughed and wordlessly ate his new popsicle.

“You can go back there and play with the kids again,” he said after it was clear that Della had no plans of moving from her spot.

“Nah… Uncle Scrooge is already facing them and he has no mercy,” Della said, looking at said uncle. Both he and Della shuddered. “Besides… it’s been a while since we hung out together.”

“I’m just watching the kids while eating this,” he pointed out, shaking his popsicle in front of Della’s face.

“That’s okay, we can laugh at them from here,” Della answered lightly.

He stuffed the popsicle into his mouth to escape having to respond to that and cried out when stabbing pain from brain freeze appeared. Della laughed at him and patted him on the arm, and he had to quash away the question of why she chose to hang out with him when she could join the rest of their family before the tears could fall.

* * *

The plane careened into the beach and crashed with enough force to rattle his bones. It caught fire, red-hot, sputtering and spitting flames like a great beast coughing up smoke.

Della walked out of the cockpit, miraculously unharmed. The children followed behind her, safe and sound and curiously looking about.

He called out to them, but they didn’t respond. He walked to them, but they walked through him, as if he wasn’t there, as if he was just a ghost that they couldn’t see or touch or interact with, as if he never was a part of their lives in the first place.

He blinked awake and groaned tiredly. He made a mug of hot chocolate and blew on the steam before sipping it slowly, wishing himself a restful sleep with nice, sweet dreams that he could fall into without care.

The clock ticked closer to dawn, and he decided that if he couldn’t sleep again, he could at least rest his eyes. He could pretend the flip in his stomach when he remembered his dream was never there if he traced outlines at the patterns in the insides of his eyelids.

* * *

He spent more time in the manor, and Della somehow managed to split her time between hanging out with him and with the kids – as in going on adventures – perfectly in the middle. He got roped in on their trips on the regular and he swallowed his misfortune and fuck ups and slathered on a smile to keep his family from worrying.

But years of blunders danced behind his eyelids, and he remembered how his family _forgot_ about him, not realizing he was gone and stuck in an island for much too long. He found himself slinking away, retreating into himself further and further and choosing not to meet the rest of his family too often.

(He wasn’t avoiding them. He couldn’t avoid them if they were too busy going on adventures while he stayed back home to hold the fort, because no matter how confident Uncle Scrooge was with how safe things were and how strong Mrs. Beakley was, Glomgold had broken into the manor before and anyone could do it again if they tried hard enough.)

Della kept coaxing him to join them, pushing and pulling until he agreed, but most of the time he held tight and refused. He’d probably just mess things up if he joined, anyway. It was best that he kept away.

* * *

The plane careened into the beach and crashed with enough force to rattle his bones. It caught fire, red-hot, sputtering and spitting flames like a great beast coughing up smoke.

Della came out of the cockpit, coughing. Soot marred her white feathers. Behind her, the kids followed, all stained with soot and ash and looking grim like soldiers ready to fight in the trenches.

He called out to them, and Della’s gaze turned steely. “Where have you been?” she asked, tone harsh and accusing. “We’ve been fighting the Moonlanders. Have you just been here sitting around doing nothing? Enjoying your vacation?”

“Must be nice, not having to worry about the invasion,” Huey added bitterly.

“We needed help but you didn’t help. You were just here,” Dewey spat in disgust.

“Useless. I thought we could rely on you, Uncle Donald,” Louie said, disappointment in his eyes.

“You’re one of the greatest adventurers in the world! How could you?” Webby asked, teary-eyed.

He opened his mouth to answer, but he couldn’t get his voice to work.

“Save your breath,” Della hissed. “We don’t need you around. You’re not a part of this family.”

He woke with tears already staining his pillow, leaving tracks on his cheek that he wiped away with the sleeves of his pajamas. He stayed in his hammock, breathing, breathing, waiting for the tears to stop. Once it did, he stood and went to the kitchen to make a mug of hot chocolate and drink water to keep himself hydrated.

He wasn’t sure he could sleep again, after that.

The clock ticked closer to dawn. Might as well start his day early.

* * *

Della stopped coming by and coaxing him to join them.

For a while, he thought, _good_. They were getting rid of him at last. Finally, a validation to his suspicion and a relief to his constant wariness.

And then she barreled into his boat carrying pillows and half her wardrobe, dumping them unceremoniously in the boys’ old room. “I’m staying here with you,” she said.

“No offense, Dell, but I want my personal space,” he said dryly.

“You haven’t been spending a lot of time with us. I want to hang out with you,” Della insisted stubbornly. “We have ten years to catch up on! Come on.”

“Della. I want my space,” he reiterated.

“Why are you so adamant about this?” Della asked instead. “At least let me sleep over for a night or two. We haven’t talked much after I got back.”

Lack of proper rest got to him, and he snapped, “Well, maybe I don’t want to.”

The words left a taint of regret before they fully left his beak, but the damage was already done. Della narrowed her eyes at him. “You don’t want to,” she echoed stormily.

He wanted to apologize for the brief outburst. Instead what he said was, “I just want my space.”

Della stared at him, huffed, and gathered the pillows and the contents of her wardrobe into her arms. “Fine,” she said mulishly, “I guess I’ll go back to our old room in the manor.”

He watched her walk away and swallowed the guilt in his chest.

* * *

The plane careened into the beach and crashed with enough force to rattle his bones. It caught fire, red-hot, sputtering and spitting flames like a great beast coughing up smoke.

Della collapsed to the sand, bloodied, white feathers stained pink. Behind her, the children staggered out of the plane covered in blood and clothes aflame.

“Don,” Della pleaded, and burst into flames, and she and the kids crumpled to the hot sand rapidly turning to glass, charcoals among the glinting crystal.

He woke with a gasp and a dying scream in his throat, made another mug of hot chocolate, and let himself cry in the darkness of his kitchen, feeling like he was crying blood instead of tears. He chugged the hot chocolate just fresh off the stove and forced himself to lie in his hammock with numbness in his tongue and burning in his chest and wished he could sleep a dreamless sleep.

The clock ticked to dawn. Sleep eluded him, but so did the dreams.

* * *

Della stopped coming by the boat. She still hung out with him when he went into the manor, and the kids still pulled him to join them in adventures, but she stopped trying to get him to spend more time with her.

It was as much a relief as it was heartbreak to realize she had come to the same conclusion as him. It was better to leave the fuck up behind. Besides, hadn’t they forgotten him when he wasn’t there? When he was sitting alone in that island just waiting for someone to come to him, counting days and giving up halfway? As much as it hurt, it only meant that they wouldn’t miss him when he was truly gone from their lives.

He slipped out into the woods around the hill in the dead of the night. Maybe if he got himself lost enough he wouldn’t find his way back to the manor and he could waste away his remaining days in the fallen leaves and rotting woods.

He thought back to the beach, when he thought he would die of starvation when the melon fruits started to dwindle and the coconuts were nowhere to be seen.

He refused to die in the waters.

* * *

The sound of the sea waves crashing was his constant companion. It was lulling, almost, and eventually it grew into a white noise that he could block, if he pretended hard enough. It was like he was back in the pier in Duckburg, almost, if he closed his eyes hard enough, wished hard enough, if he was desperate enough.

There was no careening plane, no sister to get out and yell at him and hug him hard enough to crush his ribs. No children to come out and stare at him in mounting horror when they realized he was never on a cruise.

He was alone, alone, alone, and it smothered his lungs with tired betrayal and bitter resignation and he would die here, alone, in a foreign beach surrounded by the sea that should have been a comforting friend instead of an all encompassing prison. The sniffs and sobs that escaped his beak felt like choking smoke and the taste of the finality of abandonment.

He woke to a light shining into his eyes and someone frantically calling his name. Della was there, shaking him awake, a mess of tears and snot and panted breath.

“Why are you here?” he whispered at her.

“What do you mean, why am I here?” Della snapped. “You were gone! Everyone’s looking at you! And I found you here just laying about in the woods like you’re trying to waste away your life!”

He blinked. It was closer to the truth than he was comfortable with, and Della seemed to realize this as soon as the words escaped her mouth because her gaze turned into cold terror that had her stilling in her place.

“…we’re getting you home,” she settled instead, but there was a promise in her voice, to talk more about it in the morning.

* * *

He assured the children that he was okay, only a little cold. Huey responded by wrapping him in a blanket while Louie angrily banged pots together to make hot chocolate. Dewey kept his eyes on him, never touching him but always staring, while Webby gripped his hand hard enough to grind his knuckles together.

“I’m fine,” he tried to say, through the chattering teeth and the shuddering breath. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.” Because he didn’t. It wasn’t a lie. He was supposed to disappear into the earth and be forgotten.

“Here, drink this,” Louie said, pressing the newly made hot chocolate into his stiff fingers. “Uncle Donald, you need to warm yourself.”

He took the drink and sipped. It was a touch too sweet, and Louie had added a pinch too much cinnamon, but it was comforting and it made him want to weep because he didn’t deserve this, he didn’t deserve them, he didn’t deserve any of this.

“Sleep inside,” Uncle Scrooge said, as if it was a request instead of an order. “We all want to make sure you’ll be fine, laddie.” He glanced to the clock. “Okay, finish your drinks. It’s late, we should sleep.”

Della marched him to the old room they shared and brushed off the dead leaves still clinging to his feathers and clothes and smothered him in a hug, enough to crush his ribs. He didn’t hug her back, but it only seemed to make her snuggle deeper into his neck.

“Sleep,” she said. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

She slipped into her bed and curled up, asleep in seconds.

He slipped into the bed he once called his own and stared at the ceiling. The clock ticked closer to dawn, and he stayed awake.

* * *

Uncle Scrooge had Mrs. Beakley bring the kids to Funso’s, unsure if he would be comfortable with the kids being included in the conversation that would follow.

He was grateful for that. Even if he loved them to pieces and would love to have them near, even if he knew he was the weakest link that made the chain that was their family, he still didn’t want them to see him crumpled and defeated and feeling sorry for himself. It made him feel like a coward, to not want to put on his true face for them.

“Why did you go?” Della asked. “I checked on you and then you weren’t in the houseboat. We were looking for you for hours.”

He stared at his hands. “I didn’t think you’d look for me.”

“Of course we’d look for you,” Uncle Scrooge said.

He blinked and looked up to meet Uncle Scrooge’s eyes. “…you didn’t look for me when I was stranded,” he whispered.

Uncle Scrooge tensed. So did Della. He balled his hands into fists. “Did… did no one really realize I was gone?” he asked. His voice was smaller than he was comfortable with. “Did no one tell you I didn’t get to the cruise?”

“They might have called,” Uncle Scrooge hedged.

“You might not have answered,” he sighed, “and you don’t really have an answering machine. Okay.” He rubbed his knuckles. “No one tried to reach me?”

“Huey sent postcards,” Della said, “but they were returned. We thought it was just because it wasn’t possible to send mail to a ship.”

“But you sent me on a ten-day cruise. I was gone for more than ten days,” he said. “I don’t know for sure how long I was gone, I can’t count the days I was on the moon – “

“You were on the moon?” Della exclaimed.

Something in him broke. “You don’t know I was on the moon. You don’t know I was stranded. No one looked for me.”

Della winced. “Donald – “

“Why did you bother looking for me last night?” He didn’t like that he couldn’t tell if they wanted him gone or not. He thought they did, since they didn’t even realize he was gone when he was stranded. But then why did they look for him when he decided to get lost? “I thought you’d be happy if I was… away.”

Both Della and Uncle Scrooge flinched. “No! Of course not!” Uncle Scrooge said. “You saw me try to get Della back!”

“But that’s Della. I’m… me.”

“I would have gone through the same effort if you were gone,” Uncle Scrooge argued.

“But you didn’t,” he said, and Uncle Scrooge recoiled as though slapped.

“Look, Don,” Della breathed in, “we were wrong. We didn’t realize you were gone and we really should have.” She stepped forward. “It was partly my fault. I was so happy I got to meet the kids that I just accepted that you were on vacation. I should have asked how long you’d be gone. I should have looked for you. I thought I would get more time with you later on, but…”

“You haven’t really gotten more time with me lately either,” he said with a blink.

“I thought I was giving you space,” Della said. “You said you wanted your space, and I thought you were just in a phase where you just want to be alone for a few days. I thought I was doing you a favor, but then – then you just… left the manor and went to the woods.” She looked at him right in the eyes, and he was surprised to see the dismay in there. “You were so cold when I found you, Don. If you stayed outside the whole night, you’d – “ she cut herself off.

“Della and I were worried you might get hypothermia if she hadn’t found you,” Uncle Scrooge supplied. _We thought you’d die from the cold_ , he didn’t say.

Della took a deep breath. “Don, please – please just answer me this. Why did you go last night?”

Donald looked away. “I don’t know,” he lied.

“You didn’t say no when I said it was like you wanted to die,” Della shot. Uncle Scrooge’s eyes widened, and he looked at her, then at him, for once at a loss for words.

He dug his fingers into his palm until it hurt. “You wouldn’t have to deal with the fuck up anymore,” he said. “It’s a burden off your shoulders.”

Uncle Scrooge drew in a gasp. “Donald – “

“I leave a mess everywhere I go. I put people in danger because I keep tripping on my own foot. I can’t even keep a job for more than a month!” He took a deep breath to calm himself. “You’ll be better off if I’m not here.”

“That’s not true!” Della snapped.

“But you will! I can’t do anything right!”

“How dare you say that!” Della rose to her feet. “You raised my kids! They’re here and alive because of you! You’re calling that not doing something right?”

“But – “

“I came home for my kids, but I’m not staying just for them,” Della pleaded. “I’m staying for Uncle Scrooge, too, and I’m also staying for _you_.”

“You – you don’t have to stay for me,” he blurted.

“I _want_ to. I missed ten years of your ugly mug, I’m taking it back with _at least_ fifty years interest,” Della insisted.

“No one bothered looking for me before. Why are you trying so hard now?” He looked back and forth between Della and Uncle Scrooge.

“We did so much wrong,” Uncle Scrooge began. “We’re trying to make it right. Donald – “ he took a deep breath. “Donald, _please_ let us make it right.”

“I’m not worth it,” he said. He wondered why they looked like the simple words had broken their hearts.

“You’re worth every second of it,” Uncle Scrooge said with enough conviction to move mountains.

* * *

They picked up the kids at Funso’s. Huey fretted about, never straying far from him. Dewey chattered nonstop about nothing and everything and waited until he responded before continuing. Louie kept taking hold of his hand. Webby hovered, not quite away from him but never truly near, keeping an eye on him all the while.

Guilt felt like a crushing weight in his chest. He never meant to scare them like this.

“Tell us next time if you feel down,” Dewey said. “You’ve been listening to me talk about all this nonsense, we can listen to you too.”

“You’re not talking nonsense,” he argued, because he didn’t know what else to say.

“Exactly! So you have to talk to us, too!” Dewey looked up to meet his eyes. “Promise you won’t hold it in again?”

He didn’t know if he could promise it, but he didn’t want to say no, not to Dewey. He smiled a weak smile that felt more like a grimace and said, “I’ll try.”

* * *

Della went to his houseboat bearing cans of cold beer. She put them on the table, pushed one into his hand, and opened one for herself.

He stared at the beer. “I don’t think I’ve drunk this since I’ve had to raise the kids,” he admitted.

“Great! I haven’t had beer since I returned, either, and it’s not like I could drink booze on the moon,” Della said, and she chugged the drink. She pulled the beer can away from her mouth with a frown. “Whew. Let’s not make a habit of that. Now.” She leaned to him. “How have you been? Did you meet a lady friend? I heard Webby mentioning a daisy. Is this like a flower or a person?”

“Um. A person.” He opened the can and took a sip. He frowned; either he’d forgotten how beer was supposed to taste like or Della had bought ones that tasted _especially_ bitter. He drank it anyway. “I met her after you’re back, though. What about it?”

“I’m glad you met someone! You know, I dodged the painful days of sleepless nights and changing diapers. When you have a kid, I’ll take over that part for you.”

He coughed, almost choking on his drink. “Della!”

“What? It’s only fair!” She grinned at him and leaned back into her seat.

“It won’t be fair to her if I ask her out right now,” he protested. “I’m a mess!”

Della’s gaze sharpened. “So unmess yourself,” she said, “and then ask her out.”

His mouth felt dry. He looked away and drank the horrible beer.

* * *

Uncle Scrooge came to him and pushed a name card to his chest.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“A therapist I found,” Uncle Scrooge said, and his breath hitched. “You need to talk to someone. Preferably a professional.”

“I can’t afford this,” he protested.

“I’ll cover the cost,” Uncle Scrooge insisted.

“I can’t pay you back, either,” he said further.

“You don’t have to,” Uncle Scrooge said. “Or if you really want to pay me back, it doesn’t matter if it takes you years. I just want you to be well.”

He stared at Uncle Scrooge wordlessly. Uncle Scrooge’s gaze softened and he clapped him on his shoulder.

“If you don’t want to, you don’t have to go,” he said. “But consider it, at least.”

* * *

The plane careened into the beach and crashed with enough force to rattle his bones. It caught fire, red-hot, sputtering and spitting flames like a great beast coughing up smoke.

Della came out of the cockpit, coughing. Soot marred her white feathers. Behind her, the kids followed, all stained with soot and ash and looking grim like soldiers ready to fight in the trenches.

“Donald,” Della said, “we’re here to get you home.”

He woke up with shuddering breath, cheek wet with tears. After all this time, he hadn’t dared to hope, hadn’t dared to open his arms to his family and expect them to open theirs for him. He forgot how scary it was to dare to hope.

He made hot chocolate and stirred it in its mug, and kept stirring until it grew cold. He drank it anyway.

The clock ticked closer to dawn. As always, he didn’t sleep again.

* * *

Dewey and Webby dragged him to their next adventure, insisting he went with them and refusing to take no as an answer. He trudged forward with growing terror, knowing that he would mess up sooner or later.

Out of everyone, it was Huey who triggered the standard-issue spikes-under-collapsible-floor trap. He managed to catch him before he fell through, keeping him tucked against his chest as he let momentum carry him across the hole he just jumped above and rolling to absorb the impact.

Huey clung to his neck all the while, and refused to let go afterwards. It wasn’t until they were out of the typical booby-trapped area that he let go.

“Thanks, Uncle Donald,” he said softly.

Dewey tugged at his sleeve. When he turned to look at him, he smiled. “I’m glad you were here to keep us safe, Uncle Donald,” he said, sincerely, and he just about burst into tears then and there.

* * *

He didn’t sleep that night. He didn’t dream, either, so that was a plus. But he was tired, and he wanted to rest, but sleep still escaped him like sand escaping closing fingers. Like water, when he tried to keep it in his fists.

He walked around the manor. Uncle Scrooge had insisted he sleep in the manor for the time being, and had a room for him prepared to give him privacy – it was weird to share rooms with Della again after having his own room for years. He could stand sharing again, but not permanently. Thankfully, Della had agreed.

He made his rounds, slowing his steps when he neared his family’s bedrooms, pausing to listen to them breathe and finding himself relieved they were still here, still alive. He got to the triplets’ room and paused, and felt his fingers going cold when he realized only two were there.

As quietly as he could, he opened the door and peeked inside. Huey and Dewey both were asleep, but Louie’s bed was empty. He drew a shaky breath, closed the door, and walked away as quickly and silently as he could, checking all the places he could think of.

He found Louie in the kitchen, jumping when the boy saw him. “Uncle Donald,” Louie said, wide eyed.

He sighed. “I was looking for you.”

“I’m fine. I just… couldn’t sleep. I wanted to get some water,” Louie said.

“Do you want hot chocolate?” he blurted, not thinking much of it. Louie blinked at him and nodded, and he made two big mugs of hot chocolate for them both. They blew on it and sipped slowly, savoring the taste.

Louie sighed. “No one can make better hot chocolate than you,” he remarked.

He chuckled. “That’s not true. Your grandma made it way better than me.”

“Okay, but yours is the best in my book.” Louie leaned to him and took a deep, long sip.

“Thanks, kiddo.” He fiddled with the mug’s handle. “Do you want to talk why you couldn’t sleep?”

“Not really. It’s just the usual thing with adventures. I kept thinking of how Huey almost fell.” He snuggled closer to his chest.

He hummed. “I can see that. It’s the reason why I can’t sleep, either,” he said. He didn’t say how he kept imagining what would happen if he hadn’t caught Huey in time, and how it was possible that he wouldn’t be able to catch any of them next time.

Louie simply grunted. When he peered down to check, he saw that Louie was starting to nod off, the hot chocolate drunk until only a few teaspoons remained in the mug, the combination of cocoa and cinnamon finally lulling the boy to sleep. He coaxed him to finish it and drank his own drink, then carried Louie to bed.

The clock ticked closer to dawn. He closed his eyes and hovered in the in between of sleep and waking, walking the tightrope with expertise. He still didn’t sleep.

* * *

He dialed the number after about an hour of psyching himself up, and it still didn’t stop his fingers from trembling. The name card Uncle Scrooge gave him had long since been crumpled in his attempt to managed the nervousness. Someone picked up the phone and spoke in a professionally detached tone that made a part of him want to close the call.

“Yes, uh,” he said instead, eloquently, “I would like to schedule a therapy session. Can you tell me what I should do for it?”

* * *

The children ran to the crashing waves, chattering and laughing and joking at each other, pulling and pointing excitedly as they splashed water at each other. They kicked wet sand and grabbing it by the handfuls and threw it at each other’s face, screaming all the while.

“Uncle Donald, come on!” Huey said, eyes sparkling, holding out a hand for him to take so he could join. Dewey and Louie waited expectantly, Dewey practically vibrating with barely contained excitement and Louie quietly hopeful.

He felt the rough sand in his feet and thought of a foreign beach that he once thought would be his resting place. He smiled, let the sand be, and pushed through the hammering of his heart and the fluttering in his stomach, taking Huey’s hand and let him lead him to the shoreline.

* * *

He thought of the amazing lady he met at the party that told him he had beautiful voice when everyone else told him he had a voice as charming as nails against a chalkboard, thought of the balled up piece of paper bearing her number that he had shoved into his pocket, and wondered. He fished the balled up paper and unraveled it, grateful that the information was still intact.

Her voice greeted him in the phone, tired and overworked but just as bright as he remembered. He swallowed the lump in his throat and asked, “Yes, um, Daisy Duck, right? This is Donald. We met at Glamour’s party…?”

There was a pause that made his stomach lurch, convinced that she had forgotten him or even hadn’t wanted him in the first place. But then she let out a delightful gasp. “Donald! Hey! How have you been? I was waiting for you to contact me. I would call you, but you didn’t leave me your number.”

He chuckled. “Sorry about that. I got distracted by my kids.”

They chatted until someone yelled at Daisy to go back to work, and they said their goodbyes and closed the call. At that point, he’d secured himself a coffee date with her, and he had decided to tell her everything. He couldn’t be sure if she liked him the same way he did her, but it didn’t matter much. He decided she should know.

He was surprised to learn that she didn’t mind that he was a mess that couldn’t keep himself safe from himself sometimes, and was shocked to silence when she told him she would be there with him every step of the way.

“But… if it’s a relationship you want, I won’t be able to give it to you. Not right away,” he protested. “I’m a mess. It’s not fair to you.”

“Then I’m fine with waiting until you’re less of a mess enough to be in a relationship,” she quipped. “We’re all a bit of a mess, anyway.”

He blinked. “You sound like my sister,” he muttered.

“She sounds like a smart person,” she responded cheekily, batting her eyelids that clued him that she was really complimenting herself instead of Della. He laughed.

They went for more coffee dates.

* * *

The plane careened into the beach and crashed with enough force to rattle his bones. It caught fire, red-hot, sputtering and spitting flames like a great beast coughing up smoke.

Della came out of the plane, sooty but relieved to still be alive, the kids in a similar state to her. She saw him emerge from behind the tree line, yelled at him, and all but declared she was missing him all this time. He couldn’t help the tears. He’d been missing her too, all this time. The hug they shared felt like relief to his parched heart and he didn’t want to let go.

The clock ticked closer to dawn.

Donald Duck slept on.

**Author's Note:**

> donald being stranded when the rest of the duck fam doesn't even realize he was missing seems like it should leave some repercussions, hmm??
> 
> also screw canon for saying donald sustained himself with sand and saltwater. that's a tropical island, there has to be coconuts around. and if there's watermelon around there has to be freshwater. how much water do the creators think watermelons need to actually produce fruits big enough to be made into melon mickey?? it's a lush island and they think there isn't any freshwater around?? i call bullshit, dt crew.
> 
> hope you enjoyed this! also, come yell at me at my tumblr. [trash-raccoon](https://trash-raccoon.tumblr.com/) for my main blog and [twilighteve-writes](https://twilighteve-writes.tumblr.com/) for my writing blog.


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